This stark and heart-wrenching film weaves together several narratives about undocumented Filipino workers trying to support themselves and their families back home by taking under-the-counter work in Japan.

Imbisibol

Lawrence Fajardo

Few countries have been more impacted by
the phenomenon of the migrant worker than
the Philippines. Free-trade agreements and
globalization have further exacerbated the
situation, making illegal or undocumented
work that much more tempting. The reason
for Filipinos to seek work abroad is, of
course, to bring back wealth from richer
countries, but, as Invisible demonstrates,
life has a way of intruding.

Lawrence Fajardo's stark and heart-wrenching film incorporates several different
narratives about unlicensed Filipino
workers in Japan. Benjie and Edward are
two middle-aged men who fell for each other
in Japan, a secret they keep from the loved
ones they're supporting back home. Manuel
is an aging gigolo who's past his prime and
finding it increasingly difficult to make ends
meet. And the seemingly saintly Linda is
there legally, but constantly fights with her
Japanese husband because she rents rooms
to undocumented Filipinos.

One of the most finely crafted Filipino
films in recent memory, Invisible is full of
moments whose emotional impact is connected
to their technical precision; you may
never see a shot more poignant than the
one of Benjie at Edward's surprise birthday
party, waiting in vain for his lover to show
up. The film makes use of long shots reminiscent
of Yasujiro Ozu's films, and its formalist
framings — which sometimes relegate entire
conversations and arguments to off-screen
space — call to mind those of Ruben Östlund
(Force Majeure). Fajardo shares thematic
concerns with those two filmmakers as
well. Invisible is about the bonds of family
and nationality, and about just how tenuous
those ties can be. Solidarity and generosity
are difficult values to uphold when the threat
of deportation looms.